Dahlia Meadowbrook, District 12 Female- superepicstarkette1211

Usually, the square is a beautiful, pleasant place to be. That's not the case today. Today is the day of the Reaping. My usual schedule is pretty monotonous: wake up, eat breakfast, go to school, go to the Meadow with Mayzee and Emberlynn, come home, have dinner, write stories, go to sleep, repeat. The day of the Reaping is one of the only days that is different. My life is not very exciting. I really wish my dad wasn't the Mayor sometimes.

Anyway, today is the Reaping. I choose to wear a silky, royal purple dress that reaches to about my knees with capped sleeves, some black flats, and my favorite necklace. It consists of a gold chain with a charm of a dahlia hanging from it. I tie my unruly blond hair into a high ponytail. I walk down the stairs to see that my dad was just leaving.

"Where you going Dad?" I ask. I'm a bit disappointed, since we almost always spend the day of the Reaping together.

"I have some business to take care of at the prison," he repliesd. I can tell it's serious by his tone of voice. I decide not to keep him any longer, so I go to make myself breakfast. Since I woke up early, I decide to make muffins. Ever since I was little, I've had a love for cooking. While the muffins are in the oven, Eden comes down from her room and asks me what I was doing, so I tell her.

"Aren't you nervous?" she asks in her innocent voice. I conclude that it'd be best if I tell her a half-lie.

"No," I reply cleverly. I accentuate my false confidence with a laugh. It's part of the truth. I'm not nervous, I am absolutely terrified.

"But what if you get picked?"

"Then I'll try really hard to get back to you. I promise."

A little while later, Dad comes home and we all enjoy breakfast. Then, we all walk to the Reaping. That's where I run into my best friends, Mayzee and Emberlynn Fiora. They are twin sisters from the poorer part of the District, nicknamed the Seam.

I know what you're thinking. How can the Mayor's daughter be friends with girls from the Seam? Well, it's a very long story from a long time ago. In other words, I'm not telling you yet. I know, I'm the biggest troll in Panem. I can hear you laughing at my antics now.

"Hey Lia," Emberlynn and Mayzee say simultaneously. They do that a lot. It gets kind of creepy.

"Hey guys!" I shout.

"No need to yell. We're right here." There's silence for a few seconds before we all bust a gut laughing.

However, by the time we check in, we're nearly in tears. They hang out together in the thirteen year old section while I go to the fifteen year old one. A few minutes later, our escort and mentor, Dominica Bluegrass, comes on stage.

"Welcome everyone to the 97th annual Hunger Games. As per usual, we have a special video direct from the Capitol." I'm too focused on Dominica's outfit to notice the video. With her blue theme and orange clothing, she looks like the sunset. It's actually quite pretty, the idea of the sunset. All too soon, the video is over, and the most nerve-wracking part of the afternoon begins: the Reaping for the Games of Doom and Death and Destruction.

"This year we are going to switch things up a little bit and start with the young man." She walks over to the boys' bowl and takes out a slip of paper.

"Aspen Drake!"

I then hear someone call out, "I volunteer…" My dad walks up to him and says a few words.

"And what would your name be?"

"Scott Calsworth." I recognize that name. Dad had him apprehended for rebellious behavior. I don't trust him at all.

"Onto the ladies," Dominica says as she walks over to the girls' bowl.

"Mayzee Fiora!" No, not Mayzee. Anyone but Mayzee. Someone, anyone volunteer please. Nobody does. That's when I get the most stupid idea I'd ever had. So stupid that it just might work.

In my moment of. desperation, I say five words that would seal my fate, which could be my doom. "I volunteer as a tribute!" My dad is starting to get up until I subtly shake my head. He sits back down as I climb up to the stage.

"Another volunteer, and your name is?"

"Dahlia Meadowbrook."

"Let's get a hand for this year's tributes, Scott Calsworth and Dahlia Meadowbrook." We are escorted to the room where we would say our final goodbyes.

The first person to come in is Eden. She looks to be in tears.

"Don't cry Eden," I say quietly.

"But Lia, I might not see you ever again."

"It'll be okay. I promise. Remember what I said this morning?"

"That you would try really hard to win."

"Of course I will." She's escorted out by a Peacekeeper and is replaced with my father.

"Dahlia Maria Meadowbrook, what were you thinking?" he chastises me. I naturally think that he hates me, so I start yelling.

"Mayzee and Emberlynn need each other! They're twins! But no one needs me! You obviously care about Eden more than me!"

"Of course not, I've always loved you. And I'll make sure that the twins get enough to eat."

"Thanks dad." I'm on the verge of tears by then. He leaves and Mayzee and Emberlynn come into the room.

"Why did you volunteer for me?" Mayzee inquires.

"Because you and Emberlynn need each other."

"But we need you too," Emberlynn mumbles.

"Remember, no matter what happens, you have to stay strong."

"We know."

"Good." We soon start singing one of my favorite songs.

They have to leave and a few minutes later, I board the Train of Doom. Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuun!

What will happen to me next, no one knows.

I just hope that my death is fast, for Eden's sake.

Scott Calsworth, District 12 Male- WizardDemigodGladerGatekeeper

The dark walls of the desolate room seem to converge onto my very being, suffocating me. I resist the urge to run up and claw at the bars. The small, dim light in the doorway swings, casting daunting shadows across the gray surfaces. It makes an eerie creaking sound as it swings, only adding to the misery that claws at the very ground of this place.

Somewhere underneath my feet, I hear guttural screams of some person being tortured. I shiver; the mere thought of what they're doing to the person down there is enough to make me want to throw up. A wave of nausea washes over me. I wonder what crime they're punishing him for. The chair on which I sit feels warm, probably because I have spent majority of my time these last few days sitting in this very spot, thinking about the circumstances that led to this.

District Twelve's prison isn't the most cheerful place to be. Once you enter, even the food serves as a reminder of your crimes. The very atmosphere threatens to drive you insane. The prisoners who've been here for a long time look like they've given up any hope of ever getting out. And the ones who've suffered torture at the Capitol's hands barely resemble human beings. Some of the luckier ones are now dead.

The cool surface of the steel key I hold in my hand gleams with my sweat. My finger is numb from rubbing it continuously for the last hour or two. But this action calms me down, so I continue. I stare at the key so hard, I'm frankly a little surprised it doesn't melt under my gaze. My hair falls into my eyes, but I don't take the effort of brushing it away. As if people here would pay attention to my appearance.

"Rubbing that key aint gonna change the facts. The truth, kid, is that you stole the wrong damn key. You aint gettin' out of here anytime soon." I hear a voice beside me, and look to see another prisoner holding the bars of his cell, looking back at me with a smirk. His cell is adjacent to mine, so it creeps me out that he can see everything I'm doing.

"I know this is the wrong key." I shoot back at him. "I didn't steal the key because I wanted to escape. I stole it because I couldn't help it."

The man laughs. "That's right. I forgot. You're a freak. Right then, I won't stop you. Admire the bloody key all you want. But next time you steal some'n, take care to steal the key to my cell, understood?" he orders, then proceeds to walk back to his own little spot at the corner of his cell. I flinch at his statement; I've been called a freak more times than I'd like.

Rubbing the key calms me down. It focuses my mind on something, which helps me keep a grip on my sanity. The very air that I breathe in this place threatens to suck the sanity out of my mind. This helps me keep myself sane. I'm not crazy yet. Not any others can say that.

A sudden clanging noise shifts my gaze away from the key. I look up to see a giant of a man in a white suit, holding what I've come to know as a gun. The Peacekeeper's expression isn't visible under his insect-like mask, but I get the feeling he's smirking. He's holding the gun to the bars of my cell; he probably banged them to get my attention. Subtlety has no place in their minds apparently.

"Scott Calsworth?" He asks in a gruff voice. I nod, standing up from my chair. I see as he brings out a silver key and inserts it into the lock of my cell. The door creaks open and I am left confused. I can't possibly be bailed, could I? There's no one in my family with that enormous amount of money. Grandma can't possibly afford so much, and there's no way Ray could pay for my bail.

I get up, an unsure look on my face. I open my mouth to voice my doubts, but there's no way these Peacekeepers'll let a 'Seam-scum' like me ask questions. He bangs the gun against the bars of the Prison again, making me flinch. "I'm coming…" I mutter. I walk out the door, and immediately feel the tip of a gun burying itself in my lower back. Of course. These people wouldn't want to take any chances. I could easily swipe the gun out of his hands, but I don't want to get into deeper trouble than I already am in.

He leads me through a maze of corridors, so complicated, that I soon forget my bearings. My flannel clothes cling to my thin form with the sweat that has cooled. This part of the prison must be the place the Jailer and Peacekeepers stay. It's fairly cool. I wonder how; this doesn't feel like natural air. I raise my hands in the slightest, almost surprising myself for the thousandth time by the simple fact of how thin I've become. I wasn't the biggest guy to go around, but now, I look underfed. Which, of course, I am.

After what feels like ages, we finally stop in front of a wooden door. I catch a whiff of the smell of the wood and somehow I can tell it's not from Twelve. This must be the room of someone special. The Peacekeeper opens the door and roughly shoves me inside. Before I get to take in my surroundings, I hear a click behind me, and know that the door has been closed.

I look around to see an aristocratic room which obviously has been designed by some designer from the Capitol. Petal shaped lights adorn the ceiling. The floor is covered in a velvety carpet. The sofa seems to be made out of a pure black material that I recall learning as leather. The person for whom this room is must be very rich indeed. My eyes wander to the sole other occupant of the room and my suspicions are confirmed. But my confusion is further aroused.

"Mayor Meadowbrook?" my voice comes out small. I honestly don't know how to greet him after the fiasco that occurred last week. This is the reason I was in prison. He is the reason. However, I can't let my spite of him take me over. I need to keep a calm mind. It is no use falling into worse trouble than I already am in.

But I simply can't stop my eyes from travelling in all different directions, hungrily absorbing the many items which catch my attention. How simple would it be to run over and snatch one of those shiny golden glasses? Or maybe one of those forks on the Mayor's table? I shake my head to relieve myself of my fancies. All I need is another mistake to earn me the torture I'd managed to evade. Strangely enough, I think I can do without that.

Mayor Meadowbrook takes his own sweet time, sipping a bronzed cup of what I hope is only tea. There's no telling with these people. I stand rooted to my spot, unable to tell what is going on. Why in the world would he come to meet me? In a prison that too? So I do the logical thing. I wait for him to answer.

He sets down the cup and smiled at me. If he hadn't been the one to send me to prison, I would've thought his smile was actually kind. However, I know the truth. I simply set my lips in a straight line and look at him, narrowing my eyes in the slightest. He lets out a knowing laugh.

"Scott Calsworth…" That's it. Just my name. That's all he says. He sits forward and knits his fingers together. His eyes travel to the chair in front of him, then back at me. "Sit." He orders. At first I find myself unsure of what to do, but when he raises an eyebrow questioningly, I manage to convince myself that doing what he says is probably the best thing to do at the moment. I stiffly walk over to the chair and sit down. I immediately finger the soft velvet that seats me. I resist running my hands over it; I've never felt anything so smooth in my life. My eyes wander to the table, and I spot a shiny silver pen lying mere inches from me. My fingers itch to take it, but I stop myself yet again. The Mayor's words draw my attention away from the object of my interest.

"Scott, you do know why you're here, yes?" He asks. I nod. Of course. As if I could forget. He lets out a sigh. "I've been told that trying to get the reason of your crime out of you is futile. My boy, admitting it will end your time in this prison. Tell us of the rebels, and we will grant you immunity."

"Mayor, I can't say this any more times than I already have. I am not part of any rebel group. What happened… I had no rebellious intent. I just-" my sentence if cut off mid-way by the man facing me. He sits back and throws his hands in the air.

"Scott, why would anyone steal a disk with classified Capitol information if they weren't part of some rebel group?" I resist overturning the table. How am I supposed to explain this? He simply refuses to see logic. My hands shake at my sides. He takes my hesitation as surrender. He leans back into his chair and spreads his hands.

"Scott, dear Scott… What should I say…" He smiles.

My stomach turns at the upturning of his lips. "Sir, I-"

He cuts me off once again. "Listen. We can inflict torture on you. We can do anything we want. I'm sure you have heard of our methods. You can evade all of that. All you need to do is give us the information we need."

That's when I snap. It's been way too long. No one even bothers to hear me out. I've been convicted for allegedly knowing something I have no clue of. I slam my hands against the table and jump to my feet. "I'm NOT a rebel! You have no idea what happened!" My eyes see red. The Mayor seems taken aback by my outburst, but I have been pushed to my breaking point.

"I'M A KLEPTOMANIAC!"

The words finally find their way out of my mouth. I slump back into my seat, finally exhausted. I bury my head in my hands. I only have my cursed mania to blame for my situation. I'm known for causing petty thefts, but nothing has ever gotten so far. I' a master thief, but often people think it's because I need money. It isn't.

I simply can't explain it. I can't see to control my hands. They work on their own. And the next thing I know, I'm holding someone else's wallet. It isn't because I need money. It isn't because I'm some part of a rebellion. I'm a kleptomaniac, whose mania has gotten out of control. And it isn't as though there's a psychiatrist here in Twelve who can help me.

The incident I sit here for happened last week. I'd been at the Hob, District Twelve's local market, and so had been the Mayor. He'd been buying some ornament for his daughter. I'd been buying some milk for my grandma. Then, committing the biggest mistake of my life, I glanced towards him.

Something shiny in his pocket caught my eye. My kleptomania flared up. I simply couldn't think. Before I could stop myself, I'd begun inching forward. My eyes had been set on the object. Somewhere at the back of my mind I'd known what I'd been doing was wrong, but my mania hadn't allowed me to stop. It coursed through my veins, the desire to snatch the object from his pocket.

And that's what I had done.

As it turned out, it wasn't some ordinary shiny object. As I'd tried to run, Peacekeepers had caught me. Usually when this happened, they let me go after a few beatings. But this time, that wasn't the case. I didn't pick up on much as they dragged me off to prison, but later I'd been told that the object I'd tried to steal was a disk which contained confidential Capitol information.

This had led them to believe that I was part of some secret rebel group, trying to launch a surprise attack on the Capitol. No matter what I told them, they refused to believe me. Every time they'd ask me the same question. I'd tried justifying myself, but no one bought it.

My fists shake. I can see the Mayor contemplating my words. "I had no idea what was in the disk. I just saw it, and… I couldn't control myself… I can't help it…" my voice breaks in the slightest. I'm not a weak person. Years of being laughed at and mocked for my mania had made me strong. But even I have a limit. And these people have broken it. "I've been a kleptomaniac since the age of three. Sir, I have no connections with any rebel group. I only stole the disk because of my mania. Sir, please…" I look down, refusing to let the tears fall.

The Mayor sighs. "Scott Calsworth. Yes, it is true, I have heard of your infamous mania. You're the first to be heard of in Twelve here. However, what you did is inexcusable. I cannot let you off scott-free." He pauses, musing at his pun. I almost roll my eyes; how can he joke around when the question is literally of my life?

"So, Scott, I am faced with a three choices. First one is to ignore everything you've told me, and subject you to the torture we inflict on people who don't tell us what we want to hear." My face pales, and he shoots me an amused glance, as though I'm a cute little dog who just yipped. "The second, is to hang you for your crimes."

I almost fall from my seat. Heavens, what have I gotten myself into? My eyes widen, and my fingers grip the handles of the sofa so hard, my already pale knuckles turn white. I wait for him to continue; hoping the third option is less cruel.

"The third is the most interesting. The best way to show up any rebel group is to show them our power. And the best way to do that is to send one of their own into the Games."

My mind barely comprehends what he says. "You, Scott, will volunteer for the Hunger Games. If you are indeed telling the truth, we will grant you complete immunity if you win the Hunger Games. If you aren't, well, maybe the trauma of the Games will be enough to make you tell us your secrets. Of course, if you die in the Games, we won't have anything to worry about."

My jaw drops open. Me… volunteer… for the Games!?

"NO!" I yell. I jump to my feet yet again, and break out into a cold sweat. This is beyond inhumane.

Mayor Meadowbrook's eyes narrow at me, almost like he's reprimanding me. "Scott, I don't think you understand. The first two options hold certain death for you. This one, however, gives you the slightest chance of being free. It's your choice."

I can feel my breathing become uneven. The temperature in the room seems to drop by another ten degrees. I want to run out the door, run far away. But I know the Peacekeepers won't let me go fifty feet without putting two bullets in my head.

I know the first two options hold certain death. No matter how much they torture me, I won't be able to say anything because I don't know anything. In the end, they might make me a slave, or they might even kill me. The second option screams death. The third, however... It may seem stupid and incredibly rash, but currently, that option is the only one that doesn't guarantee my death. And if I win, not only will I be granted immunity, but I will escape this hellhole. Obviously the chances of me dying in the Games are high, but the odds are better than the first two.

Every instinct screams at me that this is wrong. Logic goes against this. But this may just be the only action that can save me.

"I'll volunteer…"

The Mayor smiles. He rises from his seat and claps my back. "I knew you were a clever boy. In that case, Scott, I wish you luck. It's not every day we see a Victor from Twelve." He walks out the door, leaving me alone in the room to think over my situation. I'm not even allowed some privacy, because moments later, the Peacekeepers swarm the office and I am led out. I hear murmurs of getting me ready for the Reapings. The Mayor must have ordered this. I am led to a fancy washroom, and plain clothes are thrust into my hands. The outfit consists of a navy blue pair of jeans and a simple green T-shirt. Before I can react, I am shoved into the washroom and the door is bolted behind me.

I almost break down, but remember my situation. I won't do, breaking down and crying like a baby. I need to be strong. I need to be stable. I curse my mania under my breath. If I hadn't been a kleptomaniac, none of this would have happened. But now that I'm in this mess, I need to stay strong. I need to be a rock. Taking a deep breath, I quickly change into my clothes. They feel comfortable, but I would wear my grandmother's hand woven clothes any day. I steal a glance in the mirror, looking at my reflection.

I'm extremely pale. That's the first thing anyone notices about me. It seems as though the colour from my body has been bleached. I stand tall for my age at five Ten and a half, with a slim build. My eyes are, as my grandmother calls them, startlingly green. My dark brown hair sweeps over my brow in its usual kiddish style. I look younger than my seventeen years of age. Due to being underfed the past week in jail, my cheeks are slightly sunken. However, my archy eyebrows still give the feeling that I'm up to something. I've been told I look a lot like an elf. It's some ancient mythical creature or something. They might've taught that in school, but I'd probably been too busy planning a prank on someone at that point.

I hesitantly walk out the door, and once again, my arms are seized by the Peacekeepers. The Square is right beside the prison, so all we need to do is walk out the door. Once out, I notice the eight thousand people of District Twelve milling around, anxiously waiting for the names of two unfortunate kids who will have to face the Hunger Games. What they don't know is that one of those unfortunate people's name is Scott Calsworth.

I am led to the Seventeen-year-old boys section, just as our escort, Dominica Bluegrass walks gracefully onto the podium. She is actually one of the better escorts. She's a little too cheerful, but that's what escorts are always. Her hair is a long flowing blue, and her fair skin is a very subtle shade of blue. Her gown is a sunrise orange, and I understand what she's doing. She's the sky; the dress is the sunrise. It actually looks pretty. She's older of escorts; probably in her forties. As she begins to speak, I feel someone pinch my arm.

I look to the side to see my best and pretty much only friend, Raydon Shafts. My eyes widen on seeing his face, and I engulf him in a hug. We quickly pull away so as to not have the Peacekeepers yell at us, though I can't imagine they can do much worse to me. Raydon is practically like a brother to me. He's an orphan, and he shares my prankster personality, minus the kleptomania. His eyes ask me how I am, but I look away. Dominica walks up to the boy's bowl first; she must have made an exception this year to call the boys first. I hold my breath. This is the moment.

"Aspen Drake!"

This is it. I shut my eyes tight and raise my hand.

"I volunteer!"

Ray's eyes look like shattered glass. "Scott, no!" he tries to stop me, but I'm already moving. Peacekeepers have to hold him back. I look over to where the families are and spot my Grandma silently crying, her lips quivering. Tears spring to my eyes, but I cannot cry in front of the whole country. I walk onto the stage, and catch a glimpse of the Mayor, who gives me a pleased smile. Dominica offers me the microphone to say something, but I simply shake my head. She shrugs.

"We do indeed have a brave boy! A volunteer! If you won't say anything, at least tell us your name!" she holds out the microphone to me once more.

I take a shaky breath and speak into it. "Scott Calsworth." My voice sounds fragile.

Dominica pats me on the back and moves towards the girl's section. I drown her out again, but as she reads out the name, I catch "Mayzee."

"I volunteer as a tribute!"

This shocks me so much I actually stumble back. A girl runs out of the fifteen year old section, and my breath catches itself in my throat. The Mayor jumps from his seat too.

Dahlia Meadowbrook. The Mayor's daughter.

I don't know what to feel. On one hand, I can't believe she would leave her comfortable life and volunteer. And for whom? I can't seem to place Mayzee. However, as she walks up to the stage, I see the Mayor sit back down on his seat, lips set in a firm line, not letting a word escape. He knows he is helpless. I don't know whether to feel smug because he knows what I must be feeling. I settle for simply feeling angry. Angry towards my mania. Angry towards the Mayor and Capitol for putting me through this.

As the escort asks Dahlia her name, I can feel some of my anger direct itself towards her. Her father has put me in this situation. I can see her giving me a glare too, as we reach out to shake hands. I have no idea why, but I reciprocate the glare. It isn't too bad, but enough to let the other know what we feel.

As we are pulled into the Justice Building, I can only wonder how I'll show my face to my Grandmother and Raydon. I'm escorted into the waiting room, and the door seems to just have closed when it's thrown open again by my Grandma. Raydon is with her. She runs in and pulls me into the tightest hug I've ever gotten.

"Scott, oh my boy…" She sobs into my hair.

I see Ray looking at me with moist eyes. "Scott… why?" his voice is close to breaking.

My Grandma pulls away and wipes her eyes. "Yes Scott. Why did you do it? I could lose you!" I have never seen her like this. She's usually so firm and stoic. Now she's distraught.

I slowly explain the whole thing to them. Whatever has happened. Their eyes grow big, and by the end, Ray's jaw is somewhere on the ground. Grandma hugs me tight once more. "Damn those cruel beasts!" She exclaims. She lets me go and cups my face. "Scott, show them that you're innocent. Tell them you did nothing. I know you can do this. You will come back to me. I won't lose my boy so easily." She practically orders me.

I'm literally holding back tears as I nod a meek yes. "I'll try Grandma. I'll try for you. I'll try for Ray. If I can do this, I can gain immunity. I'll be free. I won't go back into that godforsaken place. And we'll be able to live in the Victor's Village. Trust me Grandma. I'm going to try my best to come back to you."

Somehow, it feels as though I'm simply reassuring her. She lets out another loose sob and kisses my forehead. "That's my boy…" she manages. As she moves back, Raydon takes me into a hug.

"Scott, I know you can do this. You have a few skills. You're stealthy. Please Scott. Please try to come back…" his voice finally breaks, but he doesn't look away as he pulls back. Instead, his Seam gray eyes bore into mine. "Try, okay?"

I nod once again. The Peacekeepers walk in and pull them away. Grandma gives me a last hug, and I feel the tears finally break through. As they are led out, I slump against the chair and bury my face in my hands. They are my only visitors. I expect the Mayor to come and give me some warnings, but he doesn't. He must want to spend his moments with his daughter.

The most I can do is try to keep my emotions at bay as I wait to be escorted to the trains.

A/N: Hey Guys! Wizard here! I'm so honored to be writing with these guys! I hope you guys like my character!

Celtic here! We're officially one with the reapings! I'm putting up a poll now so you can choose your favorite, just 'cause. I'm letting there be two choices so we can all be biased towards our own and then pick someone else's as well. So look for that.

NOW THAT WE'RE DONE WITH REAPINGS, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CHECK THE FORUM. THERE ARE DUE DATES THERE FOR CAPITOL CHAPTERS. PLEASE, THIS STORY WILL DIE WITHOUT EVERYONE CHECKING THE DEADLINES!

Thanks guys! It'll be a couple weeks at least until the Capitol chapters begin.